Now That You Mention It: A Novel
Page 20
“When’s supper?” Mom asked.
“Soon,” I said. “We have cheese and crackers and shrimp, and Xiaowen brought us some beautiful oysters.”
“What’s your name again?” Bob asked.
“Xiaowen,” she said.
“Sh—what? That’s quite a mouthful,” he said. “Do you have a nickname that’s easier to say?”
“I do have a nickname! It’s fuck off. Can you say that?” She slurped an oyster down and raised her middle finger. Bob blinked, then looked at his shoes.
I smothered a laugh. “She-ao-wen, Bob,” I said. “Just three little syllables. Mom, would you like a glass of wine?”
“Water, please.”
Of course. Far be it for her to loosen up with a drink. Her expression said she’d be happier on death row.
“Speaking of names, I was named for Amelia Earhart,” Amelia said, gazing up at the ceiling. “She was a great-aunt of mine.”
“Really?” Mr. Carver said. “I always admired her. My wife...” His voice thickened. “My wife went to a Halloween party dressed like her once.”
Jake popped another beer. “You like older men?” he asked Xiaowen.
“I like older men who bathe,” she said. “When was the last time you hit the showers?”
“Let me help you with things, Nora,” Mom said, getting up. “So we can get this show on the road.”
Sullivan, meanwhile, watched. I hoped he was catching the conversation. He saw me looking and gave me a little nod.
“Why are all these men here?” my mother hissed at me in the kitchen.
“Uh...I don’t know. I just ran into them,” I lied. “Xiaowen isn’t a man. I’m not a man. You’re not a man.”
“Are you matchmaking, Nora Louise?”
Ruh-roh. The middle name. “No! I ran into Mr. Carver at the bakery and remembered that he used to hire Dad for some work, and, of course, Bob from hug therapy knew Dad. I thought maybe they might know something.”
My mother sighed. “You’re obsessed with your father.”
I was lying, actually, but she wasn’t wrong.
“You like everyone here, though, right?” I asked. “I mean, you’re not on the outs with anyone?”
“No, Nora. Everyone here is fine,” she snapped, irritation thickening her accent. “It’s just an awd group for a thehty-five-year-old to have ovah for suppah.”
I tried to look innocent. Busied myself with dinner.
We were having lamb and scallops, mashed potatoes with bacon, asparagus, and crème brûlée for dessert. I thought I’d save Sully’s pie for just me. Maybe Poe and me. And Audrey. And Xiaowen, of course.
I checked the lamb, took the asparagus out of the fridge, herded my mother back into the living room and snagged some cheese. “How’s Audrey?” I asked Sullivan.
“Excuse me?”
I finished chewing. “How’s your daughter?” I said more clearly.
“Oh. She’s good.”
“She’s getting chubby,” my mother said.
I flinched. “Mom!”
“She is.” She shrugged. “You should put her on a diet. No fun bein’ fat.”
It was like a slap in the face, to me and to Sullivan.
Sullivan looked at my mother. “Thanks for your input,” he said.
“I’m so sorry,” I murmured. He didn’t hear me.
“Diet is so important to good health,” Amelia said. “And of course, Nora agrees with me! She’s a gastroenterologist, after all. Who wants another drink? Can I top anyone off?” She got up and went to the freezer, where she’d put her vodka.
“Livers are also important to good health,” Xiaowen said. “Jake, if you don’t stop looking at my boobs, I will stab you in the eyes.”
“So, Sharon,” Bob Dobbins began. “That hug therapy is really helping me. I was wondering if maybe I could book a private appointment.”
“Bawb, we’ve talked about this. The answer is no.”
“Are those ostrich-skin shoes you’re wearing?” Xiaowen asked him.
“They are!” he said, pleased.
“You have quite a sense of style.”
“I love a man who can wear jewelry!” Amelia said. “Those bracelets are copper, aren’t they?”
Bob held out his arms. “Yes,” he said. “They help with my arthritis. See these rings? Also copper.” He wore one on every finger except his thumbs. God help him around meth addicts looking to score a quick buck.
My mother glanced at her watch. “How about that suppah, Nora?”
“Ten more minutes, Mom. Hang in there. Have an oyster.”
“No, thank you. Does anyone mind if I turn on Wheel of Fortune?”
Damn it. No one said no. “Where’s your clickah?” Mom asked.
“On the bookcase next to the globe,” I muttered. She got the remote, pushed the button, and there were Vanna and Pat in high-definition splendor.
“I don’t know how they do it, all these years,” Mom said. “That Vanner is still a stunning woman.”
“My wife loved this show,” Mr. Carver said. This time, his eyes filled with tears. I sat down next to him and patted his shoulder.
“How long has it been?” I asked.
“The enchanted forest!” my mother barked. “Christly, how could she miss that?”
“Three years,” Mr. Carver said. “Seems like yesterday, though.”
He started to cry.
Oh, God. I handed him a cocktail napkin and psychically begged Xiaowen for help. Alas, as was so often the case, all eyes were now on the TV, including hers.
“Clear and present danger!” she said gleefully. “Got you, Mrs. Stuart.”
“Nawt bad,” Mom said.
“I was once a contestant on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire,” Amelia said.
“Are you a millionaire?” Jake asked, popping another beer. Another guest with a drinking problem. I wondered if Scupper had Uber.
“Yes,” said Amelia, “but not because of that show. My grandfather was a robber baron! Isn’t that fun?”
I patted Mr. Carver some more, then went into the kitchen and tossed the asparagus in the same frying pan I’d use to cook up the bacon.
“Need help?” Sullivan asked, joining me.
“Oh, no, I’m fine. Sully, I’m so sorry for what my mother said. Audrey is a lovely, wonderful girl.”
“I know,” he said. “And she’s overweight. Amy likes to...” He rubbed the back of his head. “She likes to buy Audrey junk food, and when I tell her not to, she gets mad at me. Says I’m trying to keep them from having fun.”
“That’s tough.” I nudged the asparagus spears, which were turning bright green.
“I just don’t want Audrey to have any troubles. Healthwise or at school. Kids can be such shits at that age.” Then he seemed to remember who he was talking to. “Uh, by the way...I’m sorry for the way my brother teased you.”
Teased wasn’t the word I’d have chosen. And not just his brother. His ex-wife, too, and most of his friends. “No. That wasn’t pleasant.” We looked at each other for a minute.
The weather had etched lines around his eyes, and he was already tan. Working at the boatyard meant a lot of time outside. There was nothing particularly special about his face—brown eyes, straight nose, normal everything else, but when you put them together, the porno music started playing distantly in my brain.
He was a man who said a lot with his eyes. They looked slightly amused with my ogling.
The porno music got louder.
“Right,” I said. “Here, want to take this to the table?” I handed him the bowl of steaming mashed potatoes.
“Adopting a puppy!” my mother shouted. Xiaowen gave her a high five.
“Dinnertime,” I said.
“Program’s over, anyway,” Mo
m said, clicking off the TV. “Speaking of dogs, where’s Boomer?”
“He’s with Bobby. Have a seat, everyone.”
“Who’s Bobby?” Amelia asked, weaving to the table and nearly missing her chair.
“Her boyfriend,” Mom said.
“My former boyfriend,” I corrected.
“Don’t sit next to me, Bob. I don’t trust you,” Xiaowen said. “Sully, sit between us, okay? Good man.” She steered him to where she wanted him. Not next to me.
I wondered what it would be like, not to hear everything, to perhaps be wondering why someone was moving you, to try to piece together the words you did hear.
I hoped he’d heard me say former boyfriend. His face was hard to read.
Bob slid past me, his cologne like a green fog. “This smells wonderful!” he said.
Maybe it did. My sinuses were clogged with Polo by Ralph Lauren.
“Where’s Jake?” I asked. Could’ve sworn he’d just been here.
He answered by opening the bathroom door. “Got any Febreze?” he asked.
“I told you this was a bad idea,” my mother said.
“Is this lamb?” Mr. Carver said. “My wife made the best lamb.” More tears. Jesus.
“Did I mention I’m vegan?” Amelia said merrily. “I told you that, didn’t I, Nora?”
“No, you did not,” I said.
“Is your vodka vegan?” Xiaowen asked.
“It is,” she said smugly. “Don’t worry, Nora, I’ll just have this beautiful asparagus.” Before I could stop her, she took a bite. “Oh! Delicious! You’ll have to tell me how you cooked it!”
In pig fat, I thought. Ah, well, what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
Jake sat down next to my mother. When the potatoes were passed to him, he took a bite from the serving spoon. “I’ll get another spoon,” I said, hopping up. I went to the kitchen, came back, replaced the tainted spoon, then sat down. “I’m so glad you could all come.”
“Uh-oh. I better hit the head again,” Jake said. “I musta eaten somethin’ for lunch that didn’t agree with me, if you know what I’m sayin’.” He bolted from the table, knocking over his chair, which Sully righted.
I hoped I had enough bleach.
“Sharon, you look very beautiful tonight,” Bob said, leaning forward and folding his copper-clad fingers together with a faint clinking sound.
“Knock it off, Bawb.”
He turned his attention to Xiaowen. “You know, I’ve developed an interest in the Korean War recently.”
“And why are you telling me this?” she asked.
“Because you’re Korean?”
“I’m Chinese.”
“Do you like Chinese food?” Bob asked. “I’m a big fan of General Tso’s chicken.”
Xiaowen sighed. At least she and my mother were getting along like a house on fire—I even heard my mother laugh, which was a rare occurrence. Jake returned from the bathroom, then went again five minutes later. Amelia drank her vodka. Mr. Carver got it together enough for me to ask him how he liked retirement, but he just kept talking about his wife. One wondered why he wanted the little blue miracle pill.
“What was her name?” Sullivan asked him.
“Beatrice,” he said, tearing up again. “She was a wonderful woman.” He began to sob.
“Nora,” my mother said, “why don’t you get on with it so we can all get home?” She fixed me with her turtle stare—implacable and steady.
“Uh...get on with what, Mom?”
“You asked us here to see if we knew what happened to your father.”
Oh, right! My lie, back to bite me in the ass. Well, half lie. I did want to know about my father, of course. “Yes. Well, as many of you know, my father left the island when I was eleven. That was twenty-four years ago. I hoped one of you might remember where he went.”
“Kind of late to be asking now, isn’t it?” Jake said, coming out of the bathroom. “You need more toilet paper, by the way.” He grabbed a roll of paper towels from the kitchen counter and went back to the head. I smothered a scream.
“I remember your father,” Bob Dobbins mused. “A good man.”
“Jake’s right,” I said. “It was a long time ago, but I was wondering if anyone had heard anything. I’ve Googled him a thousand times, but he has a common name, and...well. I never found anything.”
Sullivan was looking at me intently. He didn’t say anything, though.
“No one’s got anything, then?” Mom said, clarifying for me.
“So many people gone,” Mr. Carver mused. “Your father. My Beatrice. My dog, Licorice, isn’t getting any younger, either.”
“Well, if my father’s...uh, passed away, I’d like to know that, too,” I said.
No one said anything for a second.
“So there you go,” Mom said. “Welp, thanks for dinner, Nora.” She pushed back her seat. “Can I help you clear? We don’t want to overstay our welcome.”
“I, um...” I’d managed to get one bite of lamb so far, but looking around the table, I saw that, yes, everyone’s plate was clean.
“There’s no hurry,” I started to say, then stopped myself. Jake was violating my bathroom, Bob was not a candidate for stepfather, and Mr. Carver was currently weeping into his napkin.
“I drove Amelia and Jake here,” said Bob. “Can’t have any DUIs under my watch,” he added. “Since I’m the first selectman and all. Can’t have that! Sharon, would you also—”
“No,” she said.
Fine. Everyone could leave. Maybe Xiaowen and Sullivan would stay.
Where was Amelia, by the way? I was terrified of going into the bathroom after Jake had been there. I knocked on the door. “Gimme a minute!” Jake called from inside. There were sounds that every gastroenterologist recognized. I flinched, then suppressed the urge to cry. Maybe I would just burn the houseboat.
Amelia must’ve gone onto the deck. Alternatively, she’d fallen in the water and drowned, which wouldn’t be great.
Nope. As I passed my bedroom door, I spotted her. On my bed. Fast asleep. Drooling on my pillow, in fact.
“Hey, Amelia. Amelia? Time to go.” I shook her shoulder gently. She didn’t stir. I shook harder.
“I’m very tired,” she said. “I worked so much this week.” She sat up, lipstick still perfect. “I don’t feel so well.” She put her hand on her stomach.
“Let’s get you home,” I said. “Bob’s ready to go.”
“Can I help?” It was Sullivan.
“Would you give me a hand, darling?” Amelia said, extending an elegant arm in his direction.
“Sure thing.” He went over to her and put his arm around her, helping her up.
“You’re quite a charmer,” she said, then puked on him.
I mean right onto him. It hit him in the throat and slid right down his shirt. I felt my own gorge rise.
“Whoopsy,” she said. “I’m terribly sorry. But I feel much better now.” She puked again, just in case Sullivan missed the point. “Did I eat butter, perhaps? Was there butter in that asparagus? I’ve been a vegan for so long, any animal product upsets my stomach.”
“No butter,” I said. “Uh, Sully, my bathroom’s right there. Towels and stuff. I’ll be right back.”
He gave me a look and went in, and I ushered Amelia down the hall to the other bathroom—Poe’s, not the powder room Jake had been using, and handed her a washcloth.
“What a beautiful boat!” she said, cleaning up. “Do you know who the architect was?”
“I don’t. But thanks for coming, Amelia. Let’s get you home, okay? It’s getting late.” It wasn’t even eight-thirty. I steered her down the hall to the dock, where the others waited.
“Well, safe home, guys,” I said. “Where’s Mr. Carver? I didn’t get to say goodbye.”
The rest of us watched in horror as Mr. Carver ran smack into one of the wild residents of Scupper Island.
Xiaowen made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
I ran down the dock. Mr. Carver’s car was only about fifteen yards from where he’d parked it, but apparently he’d been going fast enough.
The poor deer was panting, lying on its side. Oh, God, the poor thing! We’d have to call the police chief to shoot it, and God knew how long it would take him to get here.
Its eyes were wide. Should I pet it? Then again, that might scare the poor critter. Also, ticks. But if it was in the throes of dying, maybe I should comfort it? Her? It was a doe.
“Is it dead?” Mr. Carver sobbed. “Is it hurt?”
“Um...it’s not dead yet,” I said. I pulled out my phone and called 911. No signal, of course. Shit. I got on the hood of Mr. Carver’s car, held my phone up. Aha. Two bars. That was enough.
“Nine-one-one, please state your emergency.”
“Hi, this is Nora Stuart on Spruce Brook Road. A deer was just hit by a car.”
“Hi, Nora, it’s Mrs. Krazinski! How are you, honey?”
“Well...not that great. And you?”
“I’m fine. Your mother said you were having a dinner party tonight.”
“I am, and well, I’m afraid Henry Carver hit a deer, and—” I lowered my voice “—I think it needs to be put down.”
“Damn. And the chief’s away. His daughter, you remember her? Caroline? Well, she had a baby! A boy. Her third.”
“That’s great. But what about the dying deer?”
“Can’t your mom take care of it?”
“Probably, yeah.” Chances were high my mom could do one of those Jason Bourne neck twists and Bambi would be on the way to heaven.
The entire dinner party had made its way down the dock.
“With a little physical therapy, you never know,” Xiaowen said. “Could be eating hostas by next week.”
“I’ll put it outta its misery,” my mother said. “Nora, run home and get my butchering knives.”